


cicatrices (scars)

by orphan_account



Series: appelle-moi par ton nom (call me by your name) [8]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Angst, Armie Hammer in Love, Blue Balls, Bottom Armie Hammer, Dom Timothée Chalamet, In a manner of speaking, Insecure Timothèe Chalamet, Insecurity, M/M, Sad Timothée Chalamet, Scars, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slightly - Freeform, just for a second, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:13:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28579545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Armie combs Timmy's hair.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Series: appelle-moi par ton nom (call me by your name) [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087184
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	cicatrices (scars)

**Author's Note:**

> This title comes from the song "Scars (Stronger For Life)" by Corrinne May.

The pale fluorescent light in the small bathroom sputtered and burned out, leaving Timothée in the darkness as he stared in the mirror. He was not completely enveloped in the darkness for long when Armie came up behind him and kissed his cheek as he pulled the chain for the single bulb hanging from the ceiling in what passed for ‘the living room.’ Which was also the bedroom, and the kitchen. 

After a week of living with Armie in cramped quarters, Timothée was still adjusting to the drastic change. Timothée blinked as his eyes got used to the light and leaned his head back to lightly rest on Armie’s chest.

“What are you doing?” He kissed the side of his neck and gathered Timothée’s hair in his hands to pull it back over his shoulders. Timothée giggled and blushed. He felt like he was on display, as much as he could be while wearing clothes. He sighed and closed his eyes as Armie combed his fingers through his hair, detangling the snared tendrils the best that he could.

“What are _you_ doing?” Timothée yawned. While his mouth was open, Armie slipped a finger inside. Timothée sucked languidly at the digit and scrunched up his face. “Eww, you put too much of that shit in my hair when you washed it. What was it again? That cheap stuff that’s a combination shampoo/conditioner/body wash and...whatever else.”

“Mm-hmm. It worked pretty good as lube, too. You didn’t seem to mind it so much last night when I was coating it on my fingers and sticking them up your ass. You moaned so loud I thought you were gonna burst my eardrums.”

 _“Tais-toi!”_ Timothée frowned and bit the tip of Armie’s finger. “We wouldn’t have had to use it if you hadn’t lost the actual lube. Why the fuck did you carry it around in your coat pocket? Who does that? Are you such a horndog that you have to have some on hand in case you ever feel an itch while you’re out shopping or something?”

Armie shook with silent laughter. “Yup, you got me. The cat’s out of the bag now. Let’s see, I must have lost it when I was out at Trader Joe’s yesterday afternoon to get you that oat matcha green tea shit you like so much. I thought of you and became so overcome with lust I had to run to the restroom and rub one out. I imagined you had your pretty lips wrapped around my cock, and I must have dropped it when I blew my load.”

“Armie!” Timothée groaned. “You don’t have to be such a fucking perv. Why do you have to say things like that? Even if you’re joking? What happened to all your talk about ‘making love’ to me?”

Armie laughed again and leaned down to kiss him. Timothée drew his lower lip between his teeth and bit down until he tasted blood. “Ouch!” Armie let go of Timothée and took a few steps back. With his swollen lip, he looked like a petulant child when he crossed his arms.

Timothée snorted and picked up the small tortoiseshell comb by the soap dish. “I’m sorry. I guess I...got a little carried away.” He sat down on the toilet seat and began to run the comb through the tangles in his hair. He hissed and let out an angry whimper at the pain. “Dammit! I think it’s about time for me to get my hair cut again. Maybe this time I’ll get another bowl cut like in _The King_.”

Armie tilted his head. “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.” He walked over and held out his hand. “Give me that.” Timothée sighed and handed Armie the comb. “Okay. Now, look down.”

Armie’s fingers brushed his throat as he swept the mass of Timothée’s hair downward. Timothée shivered at the cold feeling on his bare neck. Armie began to comb out his hair gently and meticulously, so that he felt nothing but the soft sweep of his hair as it moved. He sniffed, suddenly close to tears. _“Je ne te comprends pas, Armie. Qu’est-ce que tu veux de moi?”_

Armie paused. He ran his hand down the length of Timmy’s hair. He pressed his lips to the top of his bowed head, and continued to comb his hair in silence.

“I don’t understand you, Armie. What do you want from me?”

Armie frowned and tapped his fingers on Timothée’s forehead. “I already told you. I don’t want anything from you, Timmy. I just want you to be safe and happy. I love you.”

Timothée gazed up at Armie from the curtain of his curls. He gave Armie a long, unblinking stare. He didn’t speak, but trembled with the force of what he felt.

Armie parted Timothée’s hair and kissed his forehead, nose, and the corners of his lips. Timothée took a deep breath that broke on a sob. His eyes blurred with tears, and his nose stung.

Armie swept his thumbs under the corners of Timothée’s eyes. Then he took a handful of Timothée’s hair and began to comb it again. “Be still. Let me finish combing out your hair. It’s been a long time since I got to do this with Harper. At least your hair’s a little bit longer than hers.”

At the mention of his daughter’s name, Armie’s voice broke. He leaned forward and put his mouth to Timothée’s hair. He set the comb down and rested his hands on either side of Timothée’s throat. He pressed his fingers into the sides of his neck. Timothée could feel his blood pound in his ears.

He blinked and swallowed, pressing his hands together, almost in a gesture of prayer. “Armie, I’m tired. I think I want to go to bed now.”

“Alright.” By now, Timothée was used to being picked up and carried. He whimpered and clung to Armie’s shoulders. Armie lay down and brought Timothée with him. He spread his legs to cradle Timothée’s smaller frame. His thighs rested against his hips. Armie groaned softly as Timothée’s buttocks pressed against his shaft, which quickly thickened at the contact, separated only by Timothée’s red flannel boxers.

“You never answered my question, baby. What were you doing?” He kissed the nape of Timothée’s neck. Timothée tilted his head back and closed his eyes, savoring the warmth of Armie’s body.

“Well. It’s gonna sound stupid. It is stupid, but I was wondering if any of the stuff that’s happened in the last few weeks is gonna leave a scar?”

“Maybe. But I doubt it’ll be that bad. If anything, it’ll give you an edge. It’ll make you even sexier, if that’s possible.” Timothée lifted his hands and spread his palms over Armie’s. He moved his fingers down to his wrists and brought them up to press them to his jaw and cheeks. “Do you really think so?”

 _“Yes!”_ Armie released a harsh breath next to his ear. “Damn. I’m sorry, Timmy. I can’t keep my hands off you.” He slid a hand downward and reached inside the waistband of Timothée’s boxers. He gently fondled his balls, and squeezed Timothée between his fingers.

In a rush, Timothée rolled over, kissing Armie forcefully. He spread his fingers through Armie’s hair and pulled him hard and close. He licked his tongue and tasted the swollen cut he had made on his lip. A deep vibration fluttered through Armie’s chest as he laughed and pulled sharply away, his face red.

“Keep this up, and you _will_ have a few scars. You never seem to know when to take it slow. Or, since we’re on the subject, what’s good for you, period.” Timothée gaped at him, open-mouthed. He took Armie’s hand and nuzzled it against his cheek. Then, he couldn’t help himself. He licked the tips of his fingers, and sank his teeth into the soft skin between Armie’s thumb and pointer finger.

“I’m yours,” he said softly. He turned to kiss the back of Armie’s hand. “And you’re mine.”

Armie laughed and nodded, looking right into Timothée’s eyes. “You _are_ ,” he admitted, shaking his head softly. “And I _am_. God help me, Timmy. God help us both.”

**Author's Note:**

> Translation:  
>  _"Tais-toi!_ " -----> "Shut up!"


End file.
